Darkness
Unfettered
Like pleasure and a little pain
The sacred and profane
Ice and fire counteract like black on
black
The oldest story known to man
The willing sacrificial lamb
Behind the light a shadow falls
The code of silence shakes the walls
A whisper to a silent scream
The power is so frightening
They say that opposites attract like right
and wrong
Some things seem so sacred
Like a loaded question the power of
suggestion
Like the face of danger the kindness of a
stranger
Like a Judas Kiss
like pleasure and a little pain
Immaculate seduction absolute corruption
Ice and fire counteract no turning back
like black on black
Black on black.
Heart - 'Black On
Black II'
PROLOGUE
Intrigue and dark practices dwelled side by side,
With the common man going about,
his daily business none
the wiser.
In certain
quarters, those of power handed down the choices of life and death…
~*~
The council’s decision was
made.
The sentencing chamber was shrouded in shadow, no one seeing any
others in order to preserve their identities and in this troubled day and time,
their lives.
It was time.
A waiting Summoner went forth for the
Council to request the one person who must know of their final decree.
Only the center of the room was
illuminated and into this light walked a tiny woman with clouds of white blonde
hair and piercing green eyes. Lady Isadora Ravenclaw, known even to the council
only as ‘Lady’, was the Enforcer, the one in this lifetime destined to carry
out the hardest tasks set forth by the Council.
Isadora stood in the light,
facing the shrouded visages of the council members. The long
folds of her robe of office pooled and fell gracefully around her feet, a deep
burgundy red, the color of dried blood. It seemed to move with a life of its own.
A disembodied voice spoke
to her from the shadows.
“It has been decided. You must carry out the sentence. He
is not to return.”
The Lady acknowledged the harsh
sentence with calm acceptance. She’d learned to distance herself from the
punishments she was required to enforce.
Isadora turned, her blood-colored
robes swirling as she walked from the Council chamber. She took the first turn
in the hallway, which led her to the holding cells. With unfaltering step, she
counted to the third door and opened it, stepping resolutely inside. She had
drawn the hood of her robe to cover her face as her only disguise.
The man inside the cell was
still dressed in his usual attire of black leggings and full-sleeved black
shirt, although they were now soiled and rumpled. His tunic, torn in the
struggle to apprehend him, was tossed in the corner where he’d used it as cover
while he slept on the pile of clean straw provided for him.
“Fenris Moordragon,
the Council has made its decision. It did not go in your favor.” Isadora
shifted her stance slightly in preparation. “You know what this means. It is to
be for all time henceforth, Fenris.”
“I expected no less from that
group of self-serving bigots. Do you really think I shall simply stand here and
meekly allow you to do this to me?” the big man snarled in reply.
“You have no choice. Your
actions have left the Council no choice. It shall be.”
She walked swiftly toward a small brazier that offered heat and
light in the room and cast a handful of herbs onto the glowing coals, chanting
all the while.
The herbs fell among the coals and began to burn with a wavering
green flame. The smoke hung in the air and as she continued to chant, the
shifting mist took on a more solid shape in the air.
Moordragon
realized what the Enforcer was attempting and lunged for her.
Her chant never broke as she raised one hand toward the
advancing man. A bluish-silver bolt of light shot from her
hand to encircle the charging Moordragon, holding him
immobile.
The smoke had solidified into a
dark figure in the chamber. There were yet no discernable features even as a
rusty voice whispered from that unseen countenance.
“What
would you have of me, Lady?”
“This one is to be taken into
the mists of Chaos and left there. He is not to be returned regardless of his
plea or whatsoever he may offer.”
“I
understand and shall do your bidding. Is he to go now?” The
shadow wraith drifted in the direction of the struggling Moordragon.
“Wait but a moment.” Isadora
reached inside the recesses of her robe to extract a vial filled with a faintly
glowing, bluish fluid. She crossed the distance between herself and the
struggling man as she held the vial within grasping distance.
“I would give you ease before
they take you, if you so desire.”
“A mercy I didn’t expect.”
Fenris Moordragon snatched the vial from her hand,
swiftly pulling the cork from the bottle and throwing it across the room. It
left a pale glowing smear on the wall where it struck. He drank the contents of
the vial then dashed the glass to the floor.
“I know how quickly that works,
so I’ll be brief. I know you, Lady Isadora Ravenclaw, Enforcer. I will have my
revenge on you and the Council members. I will be reborn again!”
His last words rang through the room.
Shocked to the core that he
knew her rightful name as well as what she was; Isadora schooled her face,
removing all expression as she turned to the wraith.
“You may take him now.”
The shadow approached Moordragon as he struggled to remain standing once Isadora
released the energy field that had kept him immobile. He collapsed to the floor
as the spell-charged herbal liquid did its work of releasing him from his life.
The shadow wrath drew the limp body within its darkness and together they oozed
through the floor of the cell.
Only after the prisoner and
wraith were gone and Isadora had reached her own small home, did she break down
into tears due to this particular punishment.
At one time, what now seemed
lifetimes before; Fenris had been her student, and after a time, her lover.
That was before he’d chosen the easy way, or what he’d thought was the easy way
to gain knowledge and power. But the path of the dark arts was deceitful,
promising ease and ready information even as it sucked the very soul from those
who sought it.
She’d warned Fenris,
threatening to break off all aspects of their relationship.
The warnings and threats had been far too late, for the sorcerer
was so completely enmeshed into the darkness, there was no way to save him.
Isadora had no choice except to
make sure the extent of Fenris’s treachery came to
the attention of the Council. They, in turn, had no choice but to pass judgment
on him for endangering all who trod the hidden path of the Goddess.
Fenris had shown no remorse for
his actions, had in fact, flung his mockery at the unseen Council. Thus their
decision to remove the danger he brought almost to their doorsteps, and the
horrible steps to remove him from the Wheel of Reincarnation. With his soul
well and truly lost, sacrificed to the Dark, there was no chance for
reconciliation, for growth or learning.
It was the most serious punishment possible and never one to be
taken lightly.
So sitting before the small
fire in her cottage, the silver-haired woman cried bitter tears for her lost
student, lover and friend, which she’d damned for eternity.